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I didn’t take the transition from “Mama” to “Mommy” gracefully. I loved the sweet innocence that spilled out of his mouth when he said “Mama.” It seemed to embody his “babyness” at the time, and once he was firmly committed to calling me “Mommy” it was much easier to accept his slide into toddlerhood.

I figured I’d be mommy for quite a while – at least 7 or 8 years old. Of course, Lucas decided that around the ripe old age of two, he’d rather call me “Mom.” MOM! Like a petulant teenager shouting across the house “MOM, where’s my shirt?” Or, a moody thirteen year old sighing under his breath “Mo-om.”

Every time he’d say it, I’d calmly (or not so calmly) respond, “my name is mommy.” I’m not even sure who taught him that mom is a shortened form for mommy, certainly not me! In response to my admonishment, he’d laugh and shout “mom!”

Blerg. I guess I should be grateful he hasn’t switched to using my proper name – although I’d guess that will probably happen before he turns three.

However, of late, we’ve made a startling shift into much friendlier waters. Tim playfully refers to me as “Mama-Lou” and Lucas has picked it up. He loves to say Mama-lou with a big goofy smile and then announce “I silly!” I’m totally on board with this new name. Because, Mom…. no thanks, I’ve got six years before I’m ready to accept that.